


like hand prints in wet cement

by The_wig_is_a_metaphor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Human AU, Humor, I hope, M/M, Mafia AU, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Valentine's Day, a liiiiiittle bit of gore mentioned, and also a sprinkle of angst, but like barely, but not between destiel or saileen, eileen is brought to you by: wait...was this what her personality was like?, i'm very sorry about everything, insert meme: is this crack, lol the stealth crobby, more than 9000 words rip, or is it mafiya in this case, or is it warm acquaintances to lovers, or wait is this actually a mechanic au, publishing a valentine's day story on a day that is not valentine's day, sam winchester is brought to you by: lawboy, vaguely russian vague mafia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:16:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29470059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_wig_is_a_metaphor/pseuds/The_wig_is_a_metaphor
Summary: In which Dean is mostly trying to mind his own business at the garage, and Castiel is:1) a mobster2) related to seriously the worst siblings ever, and also3)tryingto confess his undying love, here.Meanwhile, Sam and Eileendohave slightly more common sense, but like... not a lot.Written for the Secret Satan exchange.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 17
Kudos: 56





	like hand prints in wet cement

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pieceofshir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pieceofshir/gifts).



> I should mention i know literally nothing about cars or organized crime. 
> 
> Also shir I'M _SO SORRY_. About everything, but mostly being late and throwing 9000+ words at you.
> 
> Request was: the kind of fluff that makes you make those little inhuman noises y'know? destiel and saileen, a healthy dose of angst, happy ending, Mafia AU. 
> 
> Not sure if i hit the mark, and again, i'm so sorry about all of this, but i hope you enjoy it!

The car is kind of... a little much. It's a '78 Lincoln Continental Mark V, which means it's sleek and sharp-edged. It's also, annoyingly, painted _gold._

Dean's heard Jo refer to it as the “pimpmobile”, and honestly? She's not wrong.

Even so, Dean insists on being the one to work on it, and doesn't let anyone else touch it. Bobby rolls his eyes at him about it _every single time_. But he still lets him, so whatever.

“Valentine's day today,” Sam says mildly as soon as he comes in, looking at Dean obsessively adding his finishing touches to the Lincoln. “That crappy car's never looked better. That your Valentine's gift or what?”

Dean throws a bottle of car wax at his head. Sam dodges it, the asshole. He looks to be in a good mood, which means he probably has a date with Eileen today. Dean doesn't need to hear him wax poetic about her for the fifteenth time this week, so he doesn't ask.

“The real gift would be changing the color,” he mutters instead.

Every single time the car ends up at Singer's Automotive, half-destroyed after whatever stunt its owner pulled, Dean has to fight the deep and over-powering impulse to give it a good paint job and claim ignorance afterwards. Black would look so much better. Or maybe some kind of blue...

It's right at that moment that Castiel enters the garage, as usual looking like someone who has both wandered in by accident and recently received terrible news. As always, the combination of suit, tie, and trenchcoat makes him appear deceptively mild. More like an accountant than a high-ranking member of the Novak family.

He stops near the entrance to talk with Bobby, who leaves the horribly tacky motorcycle he'd been working on to exchange greetings. Castiel's associates stand a step behind, one on either side of him, attentively scanning the area for trouble. They seem more alert than usual.

“I love how unsubtle you are while staring at his ass,” Jo says from somewhere to his left. Dean almost jumps.

“I'm not staring at...” he begins to say. But he is – he really is.

Jo snorts. “Look, even his underlings noticed. Hannah is planning your murder as we speak,”

Dean turns back to look at her, and yeah, Hannah's jaw is clenched and her hand is twitching towards the edge of her suit jacket – towards the _gun_ under her suit jacket.

“Jesus,” Dean mutters. He knows Cas is uninterested and off limits, thank you very much. “Is she actually gonna shoot me for looking at her boss' ass?”

Jo looks at him.

“Uh, allegedly,”

“She's probably in a pretty bad mood to begin with,” Jo says, after sending him a pitying look. “Apparently Castiel's about to receive a pretty big promotion – or so rumors say. Pass me that,”

Dean absently picks up the ratchet she's pointing at, frowning. Great. A rank higher – another step further out of his reach. Not that he had any chance to begin with, but still. “Isn't that a good thing, though?”

“It is – but he's one of the youngest candidates. The other captains are pretty pissed that he's the one getting promoted. It seems Michael's considering ways of making it more palatable for them,” Jo says unconcernedly, examining the uncovered engine of a hideous Citroen. “For example, having him marry one of their protégés – Ingrid, Duma, maybe Bartholomew – ”

Dean drops the ratchet.

Sending him an annoyed look, Jo picks the tool up off the floor and disappears under the hood.

“Wait, how exactly does that appease them?”

“The prestige, the honor et cetera. Being married to the second-in-command is a big deal,” Jo says distractedly. “Also, at least one of the captain would have eyes and hands directly inside the underboss' house. Pretty juicy,”

He still finds it absurd and vaguely horrifying, but who's he to tell the mafia how to mafia, right?

When he's recovered from the shock and irrational disappointment, he asks, “How do you even know all of this?”

Jo emerges just enough to smirk at him. “You hear a lot of things when most of the clientele of your mom's bar is made up of mobsters,”

Of course. The Roadhouse is the unofficial watering hole of the city's criminal underworld. It's a concept that shouldn't work – rivalries and resentments between groups abound, making it impossible for everyone to coexist in the same bar without resulting in multiple homicides every night. But somehow over the years the bar established itself as a neutral zone where all fighting is forbidden.

The rule is enforced very attentively by the staff, which is another way of saying that Ellen rules it with an iron fist, and _will_ pull out a shotgun at the first signs of trouble. And not just as a threat either - Dean still vividly remembers watching her shoot a man in the kneecap for bothering Jo while she worked.

(Not that the intervention was needed - even young as she was at the time, Jo had already pinned the guy's hand to the table with a steak knife. Needless to say, no one has ever tried anything like that ever since).

“Which reminds me – you should come visit sometime. Mom misses you,”

“Ellen said that?” he asks skeptically.

“Well, no. Her exact words were, 'has nobody ever taught those two dumbasses how to pick up the goddamn phone',”

Dean winces slightly. “Got it,”

“You better,” she says. Then, glancing at Cas, who is done talking to Bobby and is coming towards them, “Anyway, today might be the last time you see him before he's married with two kids and a dog, so...” she smirks at him over the hood. “Better make the most of it. What better time than Valentine's day?”

“I hate you,” he tells her weakly.

She at least tries to give him a semblance of privacy - she picks up a rag to clean her hands, and goes to bother Sam at his makeshift desk, which is currently covered in piles and piles of logbooks, tools and heavy tomes about law. She does give a snort as she walks away, but well, you can't have everything.

“Dean,” Cas says as soon as he's close enough. “It's been a while. How are you doing?”

“Uh,” Cas is going to marry some rando mob colleague soon, and they're going to have adorable mob children and pet dogs. “I'm – doing just fine,” he lies. “You?”

Cas looks at him, and though he doesn't move a muscle, he seems to _droop_ somehow. He doesn't answer, instead turning to look at his car.

“You fixed it,” he says. “Impressive, as always. I do apologize for the state it was in. And for the – extra material on the windshield,”

You know you have a problem, Dean thinks to himself, when the phrase 'extra material' – which is apparently what splattered guts are called now – sounds kind of sexy when Castiel says it.

“It can't have been pleasant to deal with,” Cas adds, and he sounds so genuinely sorry that Dean is patting him on the arm before he can think twice about it. “It's cool, Cas. It's my job,”

As soon as his hand comes into contact with the side of Cas' arm, the atmospere in the garage seems to change. Cas' subordinates – whose presence Dean had forgotten until now – look extremely unhappy. Or, well, Hannah does. She's changing colors faster than a stoplight, and looks utterly ready for violence. Uriel is actually, literally facepalming. Even Sam and Jo have stopped squabbling and are looking at the scene. Sam's face is slightly red and twitching, which means he struggling hard not to laugh aloud. Though Dean knows from the position of his arm that he's also holding a gun under the desk, so.

Dean finally meets Cas' eyes, wondering how the fuck to defuse the tension. Should he just back away slowly? Pretend nothing happened? Fuck, his hand is still on his arm. He needs to stop touching the high-ranking Russian mob captain _right now._ And why are his eyes so goddamn blue? What does the stare _mean_? Is it anger or...

“Uh...” with monumental effort, he snatches his hand away. “Sorry,”

Even though they've known each other a while, and Dean kind of thinks of him as a friend, Cas remains absurdly difficult to read. He still half suspects that he doesn't much like Dean. But he lets him call him 'Cas', and that's not something that would happen if Castiel hated him. Or, more likely, he just doesn't care enough – Dean is just a mechanic, it's really unimportant what he calls him.

It's still difficult to tell if he's about to get shot for daring to pat him on the shoulder or if Cas even noticed it.

“It's alright, Dean,” Cas says, in a strangely hesitant tone. “More than alright. Actually, there's something I'd like to discuss with you,”

Oh god, what is happening. 'More than alright' can only mean... or is Dean reading too much into it? Fuck.

“Cas... what does that – what do we need to discuss?”

What if Cas wants to discuss the inappropriate touching? What if he never wants to see him again?

Cas glances at his subordinates, making a gesture, and they both leave, presumably to stand guard outside. And to give them privacy, which...

“I... I've recently found myself in an unfortunate position,” Cas says gravely, not meeting Dean's eyes for possibly the first time since they've met. “My – job, requires a strict hierarchy that can sometimes extend to not only the work itself, but to personal life as well. In this case... my marital status,”

 _Oh_. “Is this about your uh, _Princess Diaries 2: Royal Engagement_ situation? I've heard about it,”

He tries not to sound sad or bitter, but he's pretty sure he's failed at both. Cas looks at him, head slightly tilted.

“That's not supposed to be common knowledge,”

Dean smirks. “It's not. But I have my sources,”

With a tiny soft smile that makes the corner of his eyes crinkle a bit, Cas says, quietly, “I'm sure,”

Something in Dean's stomach swoops, and he suddenly realizes they're standing much closer than would be considered appropriate. He can make out each of Cas' eyelashes.

Cas seems to notice as well, but neither of them does anything to restore some distance. Also, Dean can't seem to stop staring at his lips.

“Given my... ' _Princess Diaries 2_ situation',” Cas suddenly murmurs, “I've been thinking about it – love, dating, marriage...”

“Yes...”

“In a few days I won't have a choice about any of that,” Cas continues sadly, “Of course, I'll treat my future spouse with respect regardless of the arranged nature of our union – I won't neglect them, or take a lover...”

Dean looks away. “Cas, why are you telling me this?”

“The arrangement hasn't been made yet. I'm still free to - and I thought it poetic to do it today. It's Valentine's day, you know,”

“Yes, I know,” he says, a little desperately. “What are you saying?”

Cas takes a little breath to steady himself. He's never looked like this – actually nervous – and it's making Dean _insane_. “There's something I've wanted to tell you – ”

Before Cas can get to the part Dean _really_ wants to hear, the tone of which he's still afraid he might have misunderstood, there's a an actual fucking explosion.

There are crashes of windows shattering and things breaking and more things exploding, but he and Cas at least throw themselves on the floor and shut their ears, and manage to escape most of the debris. Everything is loud and chaotic and dizzying for a long while, and his ears ring ferociously.

He does eventually manage to open his eyes. He sees Cas on the floor, but he seems alive and uninjured even though clearly not quite conscious. Dean crawls a bit out from behind the Lincoln – which, go figure, is now damaged _again –_ to check on everyone else. Bobby is nowhere in sight, which is a little alarming, and Sam and Jo took refuge behind the desk, judging from the feet he sees peeking out from the side. They were pretty close to the explosion though, so whether they're alright or not is anybody's guess.

Dean's ears are still ringing, and his balance is completely fucked, but he needs to know if Sam and Jo are alright – he needs to know if they're hiding or if they're dead -

He crawls very slowly towards the desk. There's broken glass on the floor, but it doesn't really hurt. And he's already fighting not to throw up, so it wouldn't register anyway. He goes on for what feels like hours, but probably isn't, until his hand bumps into something that is not the floor, broken glass, pieces of destroyed car or a discarded tool.

It's leather, and it's smooth, and eventually Dean manages to connect enough neurons for his brain to provide him with an answer – shoe.

Someone's shoe. Someone is standing in front of him, clean, uninjured and upright, which means -

He just has time to think _Fuck,_ before something hits him in the back of the head and everything goes black.

  
  


*

  
  


Once everyone is conscious and able to walk and communicate, they all move to Bobby's house, which is also Sam's house, and which is just across the street. Uriel and Hannah, who were unconscious outside when everything happened, and are pretty much okay, are standing guard outside the apartment (despite, Sam thinks privately, being pretty shitty guards).

It quickly becomes obvious that there's one person missing. In light of that, the reason for the explosion becomes clearer.

“Someone kidnapped Dean,” Sam says as he bandages Bobby's leg. “Someone fucking blew up the garage and - ”

Bobby is frowning at his leg, which is elevated on a chair and clearly giving him pain, but he still tells him, “Garage's mostly fine. Well, not the things _in_ it, but the walls are still standing,” he turns to Castiel, who is wearing the darkest expression Sam's ever seen on him. “Sorry about your car by the way. Might as well throw it away at this point,”

Dean will be ecstatic to hear that. If he isn't outraged that all his hard work was wasted like that. If he isn't dead.

As if reading his mind, Bobby adds, “The problem is Dean – someone took him, and they're not playin' around,”

“But who?” Jo says, wiping blood from the corner of her lip. “You guys haven't been involved in anything... major... in years. You're just mechanics now – and you're studying law, yes, I know Sam - ” she adds, rolling her eyes. “The point is, no one has any reason to have a grudge against him. Unless he fixed a car wrong or something,”

“He doesn't fix cars _wrong,_ ” Castiel says unexpectedly. He's right, of course, but it's still weird to hear that from him. “This is the work of Raphael,”

“What?” Sam says. “Raphael Novak? Your _brother_? But why - ?” several things click in his brain. “Oh. Is this because of your promotion? I guess when Lucifer left everyone thought Michael would pick Raphael to replace him,”

Castiel looks up at the ceiling for a moment, as if asking for divine help. “You're well informed about the _private_ affairs of the Novak family,”

Sam smiles tightly. “They're my affairs too when _my_ family - ” he gestures towards Bobby, “And the garage my brother works at are affiliated with the Novaks,”

He doesn't mention that he's also dug into Castiel's family because Dean has an epic crush on him and it seemed wise to be aware of what they'd be getting into.

After looking at him for a moment, Castiel turns to the other two. “And I suppose you two are also caught up on the infighting in the family and the obligations attached to my advancement in rank?”

“Yep,” Jo says, a little smugly. “But I guess the arranged marriage thing isn't working as advertised since Raphael still went ahead and picked a fight anyway,”

“As I understand it, guy seems to think being the third oldest sibling means he deserves a higher leadership position than Castiel here, who's one of the youngest,” Bobby says. It's obvious from his tone what he thinks of that. “Also all the other captains hate you – no offense,”

Castiel shrugs, unconcerned. “It's true,”

Noticing Sam looking at him with a raised eyebrow, Bobby says, a tad defensively, “What? I have sources too,”

Castiel's phone starts ringing loudly, making them all jump. He answers it with a monotone, “Castiel speaking,”

His face darkens more and more as he listens, until he hangs up with a clipped, “Thank you, Hester,”

When all of them look at him expectantly, he admits, “There was an anonymous message for me left at the office. Telling me to refuse the promotion unless i want Dean's body to wash up in the river tomorrow,”

“They know him by name?” Sam asks, a little taken aback.

Castiel looks pained. “Their exact words were - 'your boy toy mechanic',”

Sam winces.

He also makes a mental note to tell Dean as soon as they find him. He's extremely weird about Castiel, so it's a tossup whether he'd be offended or overjoyed to have been called that.

“We need to find him,” Sam says.

“And before tomorrow,” Jo adds grimly. “Or apparently we'll be fishing his body out of the river,”

“Best Valentine's day ever,” Bobby mutters.

Castiel gets up. “I'll be leaving now. I'm going to kill Raphael,”

He says it so matter-of-factly that it takes Sam a moment to process it. He just announced he's going to _murder his brother_ in the same tone he might have used to say “I'm going to the park,”.

“Uh...” Sam begins, but Castiel's already disappeared down the stairs with Hannah and Uriel. “Oh fuck,”

“He probably means check his hideouts and pump him for information,” Bobby says, but he doesn't sound super certain.

After that, Jo calls the police and takes Bobby to the hospital despite his insistence that he's fine, because his leg doesn't look good at all. She promises she'll also see if Ellen or one of her dozens of contacts know anything. Sam, on the other hand, having confirmed that his phone still works, calls Charlie.

“Dude, what was unclear about _'enjoying an island vacation with Gilda, do not disturb under any -_ ”

“Dean disappeared,” he interrupts her. “Someone blew up the garage and took him,”

“I – what?”

“We think it was Raphael Novak” Sam says. He hears noises from the other end of the line, and then the familiar _click-clack_ of computer keys. “Long story, but there's some, uh, family drama going on, and he seems to think Dean and Castiel are involved - ”

Charlie snorts. “I _wish,_ ”

“It's painful,” Sam agrees. “Anyway, we think it was him. Do you have any idea where he'd stash a hostage? Somewhere his siblings wouldn't know about?”

A few seconds of rapid typing, and then, “Turns out Raphael payed attention in... gangster school... or whatever - it's nearly impossible to tie him to any personal properties. He's managing everything through a frankly startling amount of dummy corporations,”

“Of course he is,” Sam says. “Fuck, am I going to have to call Meg? She probably knows something,”

“Yikes,” Charlie says, still tapping away. “I mean, probably, but... yikes. Unless – wait -”

“You found it?” he can't hide his hopeful tone. “You found the place?”

“I found _a_ place. Seems to be a small office. So probably not where they're keeping Dean,”

“Probably not, but I'm sure I can convince someone there to help me,” Sam says darkly.

“Yep. Sending you the address now,”

“Thanks Charlie,”

There's a long pause before she says, quietly, “Do you think he's... okay?”

“Honestly? I don't know,” he tells her. “But we've – I don't know how much he's told you, but. We've been through a lot, ever since we were kids. All kinds of crap – and he's always gotten right back up again. So I don't think this is it yet,”

Plus, Raphel's message says they'll only kill him once the day is over, so he should be fine as long as they find him before Valentine's Day ends.

After they hang up, he sees the email notification:

<To: lawboy@stanford.edu

From: lesbianfrodo@gvx.com

Timestamp: 5:35 PM

Message body: Keep me updated!! Here's the link:

https://www.google.com/maps/065;3g7...>

The address really isn't that far – he can get there by foot. He sends it to Bobby and Jo too, and tells them he's checking it out.

When he gets there, his first thought is that calling it an office seems altogether excessive. From outside, where Sam is lurking trying to be casual, the place is even smaller than his room at Bobby's, and looks like it's falling to pieces. He's only seen him once, and from a distance, but he finds it unlikely that Raphael, with his pantsuits and perfectly styled hair, has ever stepped foot in this place.

Not that it matters – as much as he'd like to punch the asshole in the face, finding Dean is what he needs to do right now.

(Also, for better or worse Castiel's apparently taking care of the 'murdering Raphael' thing, so).

In contrast to the crumbling building the office is housed in, there's a small patch of green right in front of it, with a few benches and some shrubbery. Sam sits down on one of the benches and pretends to fiddle with his phone while actually keping an eye on the door.

He knows there's someone inside, because the sun is starting to set, and the lights are on. He resists the impulse to barge in guns blazing and demand answers, because he doesn't know how many of Raphael's soldiers are inside, and he'd rather not get killed before finding Dean, thank you very much.

Or, for that matter, before his date with Eileen tonight.

The thought distracts him so completely that he nearly misses two men in dark suits leaving the office from the front door and quickly walking down the street. He gets up nonchalantly and starts to follow them, still pretending to be absorbed by his phone and completely oblivious to his surroundings. At least until the two split up, muttering something in Russian to each other, and one continues straight while the other enters a narrow alley, stopping near a parked car.

At which point Sam pulls out his gun. “Turn around slowly and don't try anything.”

  
  


*

  
  


It's in line with his luck so far, Dean thinks, that just when he's managed to free his hands and has his guard in a headlock, seconds from making him quietly pass out, the door slams open and the other guard catches him _in flagrante_.

She yells something in Russian, blond ponytail whipping around as she turns, and two thugs throw themselves at him, one getting the mostly unconscious guard away from him, and the other taking the knife hidden in the pocket of Dean's overalls while glaring at him.

“Hey!” he says, feeling unreasonably offended. “That's mine!”

“No it's not,” the guard says flatly from the door. Dean resents it – sure, the knife was fancy, shiny and sharp, possibly made of silver or something like that, and he's dirty, greasy, and a little bit bloody, but still. Screw her, he can be fancy.

They zip tie his hands to the chair again, and maybe it's just a feeling, but it seems a little tighter than before.

“Rejoice - you have a friend now,” she continues, still dry as the desert. “Get the other dumbass in there,”

Someone – someone huge - is thrown on the floor next to him, and it takes him .02 seconds to realize it's Sam. Mostly because _it's Sam,_ but the shirt that says 'I'm a lawyer: I'm always appealing' does remove any and all doubts.

“What the fuck?” he says. “Seriously? Dude – what the fuck?”

“Oh good,” Sam grunts, still sprawled on the floor. “You're fine,”

He says this while his own nose is bleeding freely, and it's a good thing Dean can't really move, because otherwise he'd be _throttling him_.

Sam gets tied to his own chair, and he seems baffled. After all the thugs leave, taking their place outside the door – which they leave pointedly open - Sam finally speaks.

“This is – I mean, not in a Stockholm Syndome-y way – but, this is a pretty nice kidnapping, everything considered,” he says, settling into the chair with a frown.

 _Nice_ is probably not the word Dean would've used, but yeah, the chairs are strangely plush, and the entire place looks more like a five star hotel suite than the warehouse it's supposed to be. It's like someone built a fancy apartment inside the warehouse itself, walls and floors and all. Even the room they're in right now has a carpet, furniture, and a _painting_ hanging on the wall, for fuck's sake.

He doesn't even try to process or understand the honest to god angel statue in the corner, because _really._

“Either way,” Dean says, “Your timing is seriously the worst. I was so close... what the hell are you doing here, anyway?”

“Rescuing you, obviously,”

“Obviously,” Dean snorts. “And how's that going?”

Sam huffs a bit, deflating. “I guess I'm out of practice. I was following one of Raphel's guys to get some info. But I didn't notice one of them was following _me_. At least Bobby and Jo know where I was last,”

“That's what the civilian life will do to you,” Dean says, but he's smiling a little.

Sometimes he does miss their frenetic lifestyle – hopping from motel to motel, stealing cars and diamonds and whatever else from rich fucks who could afford it, never staying in the same state long enough for the cops to even get close enough to see their faces or follow their trail.

But he wouldn't give up his current life for anything. Though trouble does at times still find him – case in point – the work is quiet and satisfying, and he's only just getting used to having the same people in his life for more than a few weeks at a time. Only just starting to dare to get attached. To experience some things, and some feelings, in a different way than he has until now. Some for the first time, even.

He and Sam are still staying at Bobby's, but one day he'll put aside enough to buy his own apartment, maybe open his own garage. Sam is – hilariously – studying law, of all things, and he'll have a career too, and for the first time in their lives they have long terms plans – dreams.

“We're doing fine,” he says.

“Uh, we're being kept hostage in a creepily well-furnished warehouse,” Sam points out. “By a captain of the Russian mob who thinks you're Castiel's boyfriend,”

“We're fine,” Dean insists. Then the words catch up to him. “Wait, what did you - does Raphael actually think that?”

“Yes? Why do you think he kidnapped you? Or did no one monologue at you?” then, as if remembering something, “Oh, actually, not 'boyfriend'. I think he called you Castiel's 'boy toy,'”

Dean makes a strangled sound, feeling his face heat. That's – that's –

“ _Shut up_ ,” He doesn't need to look to know that Sam's smirking. “You have no leg to stand on, man,”

“I don't,” Sam agrees, with a stupid look on his face.

And he really doesn't – he's downright nauseating when he gets going about Eileen, so it's not as if he can comment on -

Fuck, what is he implying with that? Sam and Eileen are actually dating, but for Dean, it's just a one-sided... something... that is getting really out of hand.

Except – _is_ it one-sided, actually? His pre-explosion memories are a little fuzzy, but he remembers Cas standing far too close, and his words about love and “ _There's something I've wanted to tell you_ ”.

It all seems to point in that direction, but – what if it's just wishful thinking on his part?

As if knowing what he's thinking, Sam says, “You know, he was pretty pissed when they took you. He apologized, said it was his fault – which, I mean, kinda? - and said he was gonna find you. Between him, Jo, Bobby, and Charlie, I think we have a good chance of getting out of this alive,”

“Of course we'll get out of this alive,” Dean huffs. “No way I'm kicking it on Valentine's Day. That's just lame,”

And especially not before hearing what Cas has to say.

  
  


*

  
  


The cab ride out of Raphael's office is quiet and simmering just like the one towards it had been. If anything, Castiel's even angrier than he was before.

Sending Uriel and Hannah to ask Anna and Metatron respectively for help turned out to be a waste of time. Both of them have already called with bad news. And Raphael's office was deserted, as were all the other properties he has that Castiel knows of, which, while not actually shocking, _is_ extremely vexing.

But for all his faults – and there are many – Raphael is not an idiot. He must have known Castiel would shoot him down on the spot after pulling something like this. And so he hides like a rat in the shadows, playing his dirty tricks. Waiting for the day to end – for Castiel to cave in out of fear for Dean's life.

He doesn't particularly care about becoming an underboss, actually, but that's what Michael wants, and so that's what's going to happen. Castiel's never had any desire to go against him, and he's seen what happens to those who try.

Raphael too knows that refusing isn't really an option. He just wants to get rid of Castiel before he's made underboss, and finally get the position for himself.

He'd probably kill Dean too, after. Years ago Castiel would have trusted his word, but ever since Lucifer left, Raphael's changed. He's become deceitful and power-hungry, and seems to have lost his common sense, which is in fact the reason why Michael didn't ask _him_ to replace Lucifer.

Despite all of this, despite how well he can imagine the results of going through with it... he's still holding his phone in his hand, finger hovering over Michael's number.

It's already evening. The deadline is fast approaching. If he can't find him before then, Dean will die. If he tries to tell Michael he doesn't want the position, he will almost certainly die, and Dean will only _probably_ die.

He contemplates the phone again. Maybe he should just -

The phone starts to vibrate in his hand, and he looks at it uncomprehendingly for a long moment, irrationally convinced Michael is calling him.

But no, the screen says _Robert Singer (automotive)_.

“Castiel speaking,”

“Yes, I know, I was the one who selected your name from -” Singer starts to say. Then he remembers himself and clears his throat. “Uh, I mean. Yes. Hello. Sorry to call, but – have you found out anything? Talked to Raphael?”

“No. His office and peronal properties were deserted. He's in hiding. He knows he'll die as soon as I lay eyes on him.”

There's a pause. “Right. Well, in the meanwhile, we have a lead on Dean's whereabouts. Come to the garage. Fifteen minutes,” Singer says, waiting for Castiel to make a sound of agreement before hanging up.

When he gets there it's already been dark out for a while, and there's an unfamiliar woman standing in front of the burnt carcass of a motorcycle, and she looks angry.

“There you are,” Singer tells him, limping closer. There's a cast on his leg, and he's using a crutch to help him walk. Apparently the hospital visit was successful – and incredibly quick. “Jo called – she's managed to find Bela, and of course she knew a guy who knew a guy etc etc. Long story short, we have a possible location,”

Bela Talbot? They're in contact with Bela Talbot? He wants to ask, but there's no time right now. His family has a contract out on her. But it doesn't matter right now. Nothing matters except getting Dean.

“Then why are we all still here?” he says pointedly.

Singer gestures at himself himself just as pointedly. “I don't know if you've noticed, but with this leg I can't really go anywhere. And Jo is currently stuck in the middle of some drama. Bela pissed off some gang, surprise surprise, and now she and Jo are in the middle of a shootout a few towns over,”

It occurs to Castiel that there' s another element missing. “Where's Sam?”

“They got him too. He went to investigate and got captured instead. The idjit,”

“So, the people we have to rescue Dean, and now also Sam, are... me,” Castiel says on a sigh.

“And Eileen,” Singer adds, nodding at the woman who, at some point during the conversation, has come to stand next to Castiel without him noticing. He narrows his eyes at her, and she smiles, all teeth.

“Eileen Leahy. Freelancer,” she says, signing along. “Sam was late for our date. I'm going to pick him up,”

It sounds, understandably, like a threat. Maybe this could work after all.

He nods. “Castiel Novak,” he signs along as well. He's a little rusty, but for all its faults his family does place a lot of importance on all aspects of education. And it does come in handy at times. “I apologize - this is mostly my fault. Shall we?”

Singer looks like he's regretting this, but it's not like he can do anything now. Eileen meets his eyes.

“We need a vehicle,” she says.

Bobby shrugs. “If you find one that's intact, be my guest,”

She does find one, and it takes her less than five minutes. It's honestly the tackiest thing Castiel has seen in a while – it's a motorcycle. Huge, black, with orange and red flames painted on the sides. It's only singed on one side, but it seems only cosmetic.

Singer pales. “Oh no,”

“Oh yes. We're taking this.” Eileen says.

“But that's – that's _Crowley's_ motorcycle. He's very attached to it – calls it 'the Hellhound' and everything,”

Eileen raises her eyebrows, smirking. “I'm sure you'll find a way to make it up to him,”

Instead of signing the words, she makes an obscene gesture with her fingers, just in case her meaning wasn't clear, and when Bobby speaks, not even his frown and grumpy tone can hide the way his cheeks have pinked.

“Fuck's sake. Fine. Whatever. Take that monstrosity and go,”  
  
  


*

  
  


“Do you actually need to stand there?” Dean says tightly to the guard, who he has discovered is called Adina. “Leave some room for Jesus,”

The woman is standing at his side, uncomfortably close, with a gun at the ready. One of her colleagues is in the same position next to Sam, and there are two more at either side of the door, both inside the room and outside.

“I do need to,” Adina says, without the tiniest trace of an inflection. “Given the five separate escape attempts you two have tried to execute so far,”

They'd come particularly close with the last one, but they hadn't realized just how many people could fit into this stupid warehouse, and had been ambushed pretty much as soon as they stepped foot outside the room.

“I didn't know kidnappers were so pushy,” Dean mutters.

“We're not kidnappers,” the guy next to Sam says with a nasty smile. “That's _libel_. We're business people, and we just happen to have business with you, that's all,”

Sam looks immediately, hilariously pissed. “Libel is in _print_ \- when it's spoken it's called slander,”

Dean was already rolling his eyes before Sam started speaking. Trust the dumbass to care about the details of defamation laws or whatever when they're in this situation.

“Dude, did you seriously just quote J Jonah Jameson?” Dean asks him, just to be a dick.

“What?”

“From the Spiderman movie? The Raimi one?”

“... what?”

Before he can continue to annoy him, there's a loud crash outside. After a nod from Adina, the two thugs at the door leave to see what's happening, and immediately after that there's the sounds of guns being fired, of people shouting angrily and screaming in pain.

Dean exchanges a look with Sam. There's a good chance this is the cavalry, but even if it isn't, it's a good enough distraction. Dean keeps an eye on Adina but, frustratingly, she's doing well at keeping her attention divided between the door and Dean.

Her colleague, not so much. He recoils when someone gets physically thrown in front of the open door and at that point he's not paying attention to Sam anymore. This means that he doesn't see the knee to the gut coming, and doubles over, dropping the gun. That, in turn, distracts Adina enough that Dean can trip her with his leg. It's kinda painful, given the chair and all, but at least it works. He still can't believe these idiots didn't zip tie their legs to the chairs as well, like anyone sensible would. Maybe the guy was right, and they don't usually kidnap people.

Even though Adina is on the floor, she does still have the gun, and she does start shooting them with it.

“Fuck – stop that – that thing's dangerous!” he yells, going to duck behind a table with some difficulty. A bullet grazes the outside of his arm, but it feels shallow enough, even though it hurts like a bitch. Sam is trying to use the stupid angel statue as cover – with mixed results, since the chair he's still attached to doesn't quite fit in the corner.

The noises from outside seem to get closer. Someone screams in pure agony, and maybe Adina recognizes the voice, because she pales dramatically and automatically turns towards the noise – and away from Dean, who immediately throws himself at her, chair first, knocking the gun out of her hand. Something else falls from her belt with a clatter – a silver triple-edged blade, just like the one the other guard carried. Dean grabs it in one hand and starts the torturous process of cutting himself free, again.

These blades must be made specifically by the Novaks, because Dean has never seen anything like them, and they are far sharper than anything he's ever encountered. Which is lucky, because zip ties are usually much more problematic than this.

As soon as his wrists are free, if a little sore, he throws the chair away and goes to help Sam. Before he can get to him, though, Adina gets back up and appears to have gotten her gun back while Dean was distracted. She's aiming it at his head now, and she's about to fire, and there's no way in hell Dean can dodge that -

And then there's a loud _crack_ and she makes a sound and crumples to the floor. Behind her, gun raised, is Cas, standing in the doorway like an avenging angel. His clothes are rumpled and splattered with blood, his hair is a mess, and there's an air of violence about him that Dean has never seen before.

“Dean,” he says, lowering the gun and stepping closer. “Are you hurt?”

He doesn't know how to feel about any of this, and his thoughts are conflicting, but apparently his body has no such qualms. His stomach is doing the swooping thing again, and sending some pretty clear messages about Cas' deep sexy voice, which seems even deeper and sexier than usual, and about the genuine worry in his eyes, because he was _worried,_ about _Dean_. And the gunfight look, that's, uh, it's kinda working for him.

He finally notices that Cas isn't alone. Eileen is behind him, quietly laughing at him before going to free Sam with her own stolen fancy blade, because of course she took one too. Sam looks completely smitten as he looks at her, and starts apologizing for missing the date and getting kidnapped like a dumbass. Eileen signs something back at him and they both smile stupidly at each other.

Dean turns back to Cas, clearing his throat. “I'm, uh, I'm okay. Thanks for – you know,” he gestures at Adina's body.

“It was my fault to begin with,” Cas says gravely, looking genuinely regretful. “Had I been less obvious about my – feelings – this wouldn't have happened,”

And they're back. They're going to talk about. _..it._ The thing. The thing Dean's been unable to stop thinking about all day. Cas said 'feelings', so it definitely has to be what he thinks it is, right? But it feels so arrogant to even consider -

“So. The, uh. The thing you were – you were about to say. Earlier,” there was a time, Dean thinks sadly, when he used to be smooth. But right now any twelve year old has more game than him. “What – I mean - what feelings are we talking about, here, Cas?”

Cas steps even closer, and murmurs, “The kind that I shouldn't be having. The kind that makes me want to consider disobedience,”

“Please... can you just – can you just _say_ -”

“Dean,” he says patiently, with an impossibly warm look on his face. “I lo- ”

There is, at this point, the loud _bang_ of gunshots, as what must be the last four of Raphael's people that are left in the warehouse barge in ruining the moment like a bunch of assholes, and Dean actually _snarls,_ and throws himself at one of them.

“Read the mood, you dickhead!” he yells, stabbing him in the throat.

Good thing he doesn't believe in God, or he'd think the Lord is testing him, and he'd be pretty pissed. He's still pretty pissed, but mainly at Raphael and his underlings, and maybe at the universe in general.

The other three thugs are dispatched in quick succession, two felled by Eileen's throwing knives, and the last one Cas shoots between the eyes seconds before he can stab Dean in the back.

“Thanks,” he says.

Cas has an indulgent look in his eyes. “You're welcome, Dean. But we should probably leave the premises before reinforcements or the police can get here,”

They all agree, and – after picking up some of those fancy blades for a souvenir – they leave. Eileen is still virtually silent as she walks, despite carrying – Dean knows for a fact – a truly bewildering amount of weapons, including at least six of the fancy blades. It's impossible to even guess where she's keeping them. She should be _clanging_ at every step.

When they get to the unofficial parking area, Dean has to take a moment.

“Wait, you came here in _that_?” he says, pointing at the abject horror that is the giant black motorcycle with the painted flames. “Isn't that Crowley's?”

“Yes,” Cas says. He can't even _picture_ it. Cas on that....thing. “Eileen drove. It was...” he tilts his head to the side, clearly trying to be diplomatic. “...an experience,”

Dean snorts. “I _bet_ ,”

Eileen cheerfully gives him the finger. He makes a face at her in retaliation.

Even Sam is laughing a bit. He's the only one who has managed to get used to Eileen's driving. He claims it's the power of love.

“Look, you guys take that monster,” he says, gesturing at the Hellhound. “I'm sure the owners of these cars won't mind if Cas and I borrow one,”

“I'm sure they won't,” Sam says dryly, climbing behind Eileen. “See you at Bobby's,”

Eileen gives them both a salute, and they speed out of there faster than the law probably allows. It will never not be funny that Sam's studying to become a lawyer, but going out with _Eileen_.

“Alright,” he says, looking around. “Let's get the hell out of here,”

It turns out gangsters drive pretty ugly cars. Dean already knew, of course, since he is technically an 'associate' of the Novaks and fixes their cars all the time, but it's still disheartening to look at the sea of tackiness in front of him. Bright orange Pinto, weirdly shaped sports car, a Chrysler with teeth painted on the side. For fuck's sake.

And then... in the middle of all that... he finds her. The most beautiful car he's ever seen in his life – sleek, black, elegant. Everything Cas' Lincoln wishes it was.

It's a '67 Impala, and he has a really intense moment where he doesn't want to break the glass or start opening up wires, but Cas, gently but firmly, reminds him that they need to get out of here stat, and it's Dean's choice whether they do it in a purple Aztek or in the sexy Impala. He doesn't say actually say 'sexy', but Dean thinks it's implied. The car is a sexy, sexy beast.

He ends up asking Cas to smash the glass because he just can't bring himself to do it, and he has to turn away and not look. It also takes him forever to hotwire the car because he's being _delicate._ He doesn't want to hurt her or damage her in any way.

Cas rolls his eyes at him when he explains this, but he also watches him work with interest.

Cas ends up driving, because he notices the bullet graze on Dean's shoulder, and the state of his wrists, and refuses to let him use his hands at all. Dean can't even manage to get angry, because watching Cas drive the sexy car is almost as good as driving it himself. He's not complaining at all.

He does borrow Cas' phone to send a message to Bobby, since his number is saved in the contacts for work reasons, telling him he's okay and is coming back.

When he looks up, though, he notices they're not going in the direction of the garage, but towards a small but well kept park. There are trees, flowers, cute little benches, and a nice-looking fountain with tiny lights under the water. Even though it's nearly midnight, it still manages to look beautiful in the dark instead of creepy.

Cas gives him a look, and gets out of the car. Dean follows him after a few moments of nervous breathing.

He swallows. “So, uh, are we doing this then?”

“Yes.” Cas says. “And if someone interrupts me again I will stab them in the eye,”

“Not if I do it first,” Dean mutters.

“You _were_ very impressive today,”

“Are you kidding? I got captured like an amateur. I couldn't even escape those fuckers. I used to be...”

“I heard the stories,” Cas says, smilling slightly. “But needing help once in a while isn't bad. Especially the help of someone who caused the entire situation to begin with,”

“Yeah, well. It wasn't the worst thing. It wasn't even the worst kidnapping I've had,” Dean confesses. “The thing – the thing you still haven't told me – _that_ 's actually stressing me out more,”

“That's understandable. I apologize. I'll say it now,”

Cas takes his hand, slowly, telegraphing the movement in case Dean doesn't want that, and the feeling of Cas' warm, dry hand on his is apparently the signal his heart was waiting for to try to violently escape his ribcage.

Oh god, what if he misunderstood? No, wait, he's holding his hand and standing very close, and brought him to a park that has a fountain with a cupid statue on it, that's a pretty clear signal, right – but what if -

“Dean. Look at me,” Cas says softly. He waits until Dean, with some difficulty, meets his eyes, and then whispers, kind of sadly, “I love you,”

The tension Dean's been carrying all day dissipates all at once, and he nearly falls down from the relief. He wasn't misunderstanding, and his _thing_ isn't one-sided. Cas actually said the words. It's almost too much to comprehend. But -

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Cas looks distinctly unhappy, and lets his hand go. “I'm sorry,”

Dean blinks. “About what?”

“I had thought – that telling you how I feel would be enough. That I could be at peace and do my duty after... that there'd be happiness in just, just _saying_ it,”

Reality comes crashing down again, and yeah, that's right, the whole arranged marriage thing. The whole reason Cas is telling him this, is to put it to rest before entering a loveless marriage for the sake of the Novak family. They're not going hold hands again, they're never going to date or kiss or – Cas just wanted closure.

“But now, I find myself – greedy,” he sounds disgusted with himself as he says it, and Dean wants to _shake him_. Because this is cruel in so many ways, to both of them. And if Cas had said nothing, Dean wouldn't have known that he felt the same way, and maybe he could have gotten over it. Over his stupid crush and Cas' business marriage and his possible imminent mob children and dog.

But dangling the possibility in his face like this... yeah, 'greed' is right.

Cas suddenly looks away, and in a different tone says, “Oh,”

“What?”

He points at the edge of the fountain. “There's a firefly,”

Dean turns around, and yes, there really is a firefly perched on the faux marble, shining yellow in the dark. His eyes are drawn to Cas, though. He's observing the thing with an expression so warm and open and – innocent – that Dean stands there gaping like an asshole, feeling his heart do something awful and vaguely alarming in his chest for possibly a whole minute or more.

Cas seems unbothered by the staring. He just looks peacefully at the firefly, and the silence is quiet and comfortable, and Cas looks strangely ethereal in the faint street light, and Dean will never get to watch him look at a bug like it's the most interesting thing on the planet again.

“Cas...” he whispers. “Don't get married,”

Cas looks up, and obviously he hears the note of despair in his voice, because he looks worried. Lost. “Dean...”

“Please. I can't – it's objectively really, really fucked up. You shouldn't have to marry someone you barely know. And I... I don't want you to marry someone else,” he shuts his eyes and adds, quietly, “I want to be with you,”

Oh god – he's remembering why opening up is not a thing he does - this feels awful. Like he's cracked his ribs open and is showing Cas his naked, pulsating heart. Just begging him to stab it.

“Dean...” Cas' eye eyes are huge and filled with sorrow. “I... I don't know what's right or wrong anymore, or what I'm supposed to do, but I can't - I'm sorry. I can't go against orders,”

Dean says nothing as they get back in the car, mostly because he's afraid if he opens his mouth he'll burst out crying or start yelling, and he doesn't want either to happen. The ride back to Bobby's house is quiet, but the silence isn't strained – it's misereable, and neither of them breaks it until Cas pulls up in front the entrance. It's a sign of his mood that Dean doesn't even try to get Cas to leave the Impala here.

Instead, he gets out and walks around until he's standing next to the driver's window.

“If what you feel is real – why don't you fight?”

He doesn't wait for an answer, and drags himself inside without looking back.

  
  


*

  
  


Two days after _the_ worst Valentine's Day in history, everything is more or less on its way back to normal.

Bobby has been confined to his sofa and ordered to take it easy, but since Raphael is still out there and presumably a little angry, he's asked some of his friends to keep an eye on things. Rufus and Caleb are hanging out at the garage, armed to the teeth, and Dean's already spotted a makeshift patrol covertly protect the building and its surroundings.

The garage has been confirmed to be still structurally sound, so they've just got to clean it up. Maybe convert it to an indoors salvage yard.

Jo still hasn't come back. She survived whatever she was caught up in, and after learning that Dean and Sam were safe, apparently decided to spend a few days taking it easy at Bela's. Dean asked her on the phone if she and Bela have a thing, and she said “Kinda,” and he hesitated but ultimately didn't have the balls to ask what kind of thing. Jo laughed at him very condescendingly.

It's maybe a good thing Jo isn't here, because Dean is still moping.

He won't admit it or explain what happened to anyone, but he knows he's being obvious. He's even taken to staring sadly at the carcass of the Lincoln, wondering if Cas has signed away his personal freedom yet. If he's the underboss now, all business at work and all business at home too, with his spouse reporting his every move to a rival player.

He wonders if they've had or will have a ceremony, and how much Cas hates it. Maybe he doesn't at all. since he's _following orders_.

Not that it matters anymore, anyway.

“Uh, Dean?” Sam says delicately, pretending not to notice Dean making expressions at the damaged car. “There's, uh. There's someone outside who wants to see you,”

Sam goes with him for some reason, and stands there with his arms crossed as Dean notices the Impala, even more sleek and sexy in the daylight, and Cas – well. Turns out Dean was right, a car like this suits him more. In fact, the combination is...

“Dude, stop drooling and go,” Sam tells him. Now that he's seen there's no imminent violence or hysterics, he goes back inside, giving them some privacy.

As Dean approaches, Cas gets out of the car, with some difficulty. Now that Dean looks closely, one of his eyes looks distinctly bruised, his lip is cracked, and he's limping.

“Cas... what happened? Are you okay?”

“I disobeyed,” Cas says.

Dean nearly recoils from the shock. “You - ?”

“I've never much cared for this work but it's what I was born into, what I was taught. I've never – _liked_ it, but there was never something i felt strongly enough about to stand up and say 'no',”

Is he saying – is he saying - ?

“But I realized I have it now, something I want to fight for. I told Michael I wouldn't accept the marriage clause,” he says. Then, looking bewildered and slightly traumatized, he confesses, “I called him an assbutt,”

Dean makes a strangled sound.

“For the first time, I - I rebelled. And what gave me the strength to do it was the thought that I could have something I had never thought I deserved,” Cas says, impossibly tenderly, taking his hand just like last time. “Something I want for myself, and not because I was ordered to,”

This is too much, and Dean isn't sure how to even begin processing it. So he clears his throat and says, “You're not gonna ask me to marry you, are you? Because this all happened pretty fast and I'm gonna be honest, if you ask me right now I might say yes, and that's probably not a good idea,”

Cas sighs, but it's fond, and Dean is _so_ screwed. He wants to hear him make that sound for the rest of his life. “I'm not asking you to marry me. But I am saying... thank you,”

“You say thank you but... you look pretty banged up. I guess it didn't go over well with Michael,” Dean says. This is his fault, isn't it.

“It didn't. But it's not just that. Michael had already begun to question my sympathies. My siblings and colleagues have always found me to be a little - unpalatable,” Cas clarifies, appearing incredibly unconcerned by what Dean feels is a pretty upsetting piece of information. “Apparently I am 'off-putting' and 'arrogant',”

He actually does the air quotes, bless him.

“And this time, Michael was testing me – testing that I would follow orders even though they went against the... feelings... that I had begun to experience. And, of course, I failed the test,”

That doesn't sound good. “So... what? They kicked you out?”

“So to speak,” Cas says, tilting his head slightly. “I – well. You might say I'm on the run now. Michael wants me dead, and so does Raphael,”

“...Oh,”

Fuck, is Cas going to die? Just when they're finally on the same page?

“Yes, it's not ideal. But it's fine,” it doesn't sound like Cas is lying at all. He looks serene and clear-eyed. “I'll fight. It's new, and – frightening, but I want to keep it. I'll _fight_ to keep it. And of course it'll be dangerous, and I understand if you don't want to be involved with - ”

“Yes,” Dean blurts out. He grabs the sides of Cas' face and stares into his eyes. “I said I want to be with you – and that includes the fighting and the familiy drama and - ” he gets distracted looking at Cas' lips, and adds, hopefully, “And the kissing?”

“The kissing is included,” Cas confirms, and Dean smashes their mouths together right then and there. It's a little clumsy, and the cut on Cas' lip starts bleeding, but it doesn't matter. They have all the time in the world to get it right.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> lol not me with the stealth crobby and bela/jo.
> 
> (Look, bela is only two years older than jo, and their personalities would match really we– [GUNSHOT]).


End file.
